Angel
by Aleithria
Summary: Mithian is in Camelot for a royal funeral that looms over the entire kingdom, and does what she can to help the one most affected by the loss. Merthian Spoilers for S5


Hello all!

Don't kill me! I am still working on Fox's Net, but I've been writing that one so obsessively I needed a bit of a breather. This is my entry for the Valentine's day challenge on the Heart of Camelot website. Hope you enjoy!

Oh, and I know I'm using the song from the guilt-trippy puppy commercial, but it just fit so well!

**Challenge**: Members choose one of their favorite romantic songs, then write a one-shot based on that song that features their couple of choice. The song title will be used as the story title as well.  
**Category**: Het (canon)  
**Characters/Pairings**: Merlin/Mithian  
**Rating/Warnings**: K+  
**Word Count**: 2504  
**Summary**: For the Valentine's day challenge #2. Based on Sarah McLaughlin's "Angel". Post Season 5. Mithian is in Camelot for a royal funeral that looms over the entire kingdom, and does what she can to help the one most affected by the loss. (Sorry the word count is a little high).

Thanks to Wil1969 for the awesome cover she made me!

* * *

Two days remained before the funeral.

As grand an affair as a king deserved, she felt there was something unfitting about the finery that flowed into Camelot's gates for the solemn occasion- her own included. Each lord and lady, king and queen, knight and servant, bowed their heads to the queen upon entering and offered their condolences, as was appropriate. But once they had officially presented their message of grief to her, they seemed to deem their duty finished and had difficulty hiding their attempts to avoid the queen's gaze and path afterward (or, she noticed, didn't bother to hide them at all). She thought the entire thing simply reeked of insincerity. Whether a great king had fallen or not, it was clear they struggled with the idea of offering any sincere feelings toward a former servant.

And though she had been in Camelot for nearly a week, she found herself more disappointed than was possibly appropriate that she did not see the one servant that seemed blatantly absent.

But the days went by and she occupied herself with offering as much comfort and support as she could to the queen- whether it be a soft smile at a feast or a simple hand on her silk-clad shoulder as they passed in the halls- though she felt there was little she could ultimately do.

And yet, Guinevere once againsurprised her with her strength- as she often did during their few encounters after her coronation- by seeking her out and taking her gently aside to request her aide in helping not herself, but Merlin. The servant had ensconced himself in the royal chambers day after day, refusing visitors and conversations alike, even to the queen herself.

She had been taken aback by the request. Memories that she had forced to the back of her mind during her stay (and his absence) suddenly forced their way forward; shining eyes, a kind smile, and a set of broad and protective shoulders fixing themselves between her and the enemy. Though it had startled her, she had resolved herself to helping in some way. She could do little else for the queen. But ignoring her desire to help Guinevere, Merlin was a friend in an amount of pain that dwarfed her own at the loss of Arthur. Even fearing there was little that anything but time could heal, she would do what she could.

And yet, she found herself looking over her appearance- fidgeting outside the doors. She had forsaken her tiara, her hair partially pulled up and pinned above cascades of dark locks. She adjusted the sleeves of her pale satin dress and sucked in a breath before knocking quietly on the door. She heard nothing at first, but as she listened she could hear the familiar sound of metal on stone.

The door eased open under her touch and she peeked into the room, her eyes being drawn to the lone occupant sitting on the edge of the four-poster bed.

He was thinner than she remembered, but the way he cheeks were subtly sunken and his eyes were underlined by bags had her figuring he hadn't eaten much. He was dressed to work; his ever-present neckerchief missing from his neck and his sleeves rolled into bunches above his elbows. In his calloused hands he held a grand sword (one of finery that could belong to no one but the former king) and a whetstone. He continuously ran the stone along the edge of the blade with practiced motions and didn't look up when she began to quietly move toward him.

He didn't seem to notice her at first. It as almost as if he were in one of the trances that soothsayers from carnivals would inflict upon people to display their power. His normally shining blue eyes were dulled and far away. She could almost see him mentally picking through the wreckage of his mind in the absence of his master. His hands never stopped in their movement, and Mithian was struck by the thought that he had possibly been doing this every day since she arrived.

He simply looked lost and broken.

After pausing outside the arch that lead into the bedroom, she moved slowly forward again. The briefest flicker of his eyes told her he noticed she was there, but it wasn't until he looked a second time that he realized who it was that was disturbing his reverie. His head shot up and he dropped the sword and stone. Red coloring shot across his face and down the tips of his ears.

"P-Princess!" he cried weakly. It was as though his strength to speak had been nearly depleted. He started to stand, but Mithian waved him back down.

"Hello, Merlin," she said gently.

He stared stupidly at her for a long moment, and she shifted under his strangely glossy gaze. Everything about him was so muted; his movements, the light in his eyes, and even his voice. After an awkward moment of silence, she crept forward and stooped in front of him to pick up the fallen items and press them gently back into his hands. Perhaps it wasn't healthy for Merlin to spend so much time stewing on his own mind. But perhaps the repeated action would help him. His eyes followed her as she turned and settled herself on the edge of the bed next to him. She looked at him and then grabbed one of the small pillows from the head of the bed, placed it on her lap, and leaned gently onto it with her elbows.

There was no telling how long they sat there. Mithian watched as the light falling in from the windows inched its way across the floor and began to fade as night started to creep across the land. She caught Merlin staring at her a few times, mostly out of shock that she was still present- though there was something else that shone dimly in his eyes that she couldn't quite place. But each time her eyes met his, he tore them away and looked back down at his hands, which had long forsaken their repeated task of sharpening the sword of a king who was no longer there.

Mithian's mind kept her busy as well. She thought of Guinevere's request; how it made more sense the more the princess thought about it. She and Merlin had been through a rather large ordeal, and it had come at a time when Mithian had been at her most vulnerable. Perhaps the queen had hoped that vulnerability would become a bridge.

When she wasn't thinking about the queen, or the implications of her current position- sitting alone on a bed with a servant- her eyes kept meandering to the distracted form beside her. They wandered across the familiar curve of his neck and down to the calloused but gentle hands that fidgeted at his knees.

She had to stop herself from physically jerking to alertness as she realized that she had spent the last several moments staring at the graceful curve of his collarbone and the workings of his neck muscles as his head bent toward his fiddling hands. Noticing the light in the room continuing to wane (hoping that it covered the absurd color of red she was positive she was sporting), and desperate to place her mind on something more appropriate, she stood- focusing all of her concentration on moving gracefully and calmly so as not to tip off how startled she was at what she had caught herself doing- and wandered to the edge of the bed to grab one of the candles from the golden holders. She hurried into the hallway and lit it off of a torch, but stopped before she went back into the room.

She took a deep cleansing breath and walked gracefully back into the room and began lighting the candles along the walls and on the tables. She took her time. It was almost as though Merlin had been the one to catch her. The amount of embarrassment that was coursing through her would have made a lot more sense if that were the case.

"What do I do?"

The question was soft, but it startled Mithian and she spun to find Merlin looking directly at her. She abandoned the candles on the table and moved to light the ones nearest the side of the bed. She pushed the candle into its holder and turned to look at him.

She nearly flinched at the look he was giving her. He was like a loyal hound whose master had suddenly gone, and in a strange way, Mithian figured the analogy fit Merlin and Arthur pretty well. It was difficult to tell whether the question was an honest one to which he wanted an answer, or a simple expression of how lost he was. However, seeing as he had finally decided to speak after hours of silence, she couldn't help but attempt to form a conversation.

"What do you mean?" she asked quietly, resuming her seat at his side. Her hand moved almost of her own accord toward his shoulder, but stopped it as her upbringing as a princess cried out in alarm and she realized how intimate the moment already was. The cries were quickly silenced, however, as Merlin answered.

"He was..." His voice caught in his throat, but he swallowed and his it was forcefully even as he continued. "He was everything," he said vaguely. There was another long gap and Mithian finally allowed one hand to brush against his shoulder. "I was right there," he growled, his voice suddenly shifting. "I could feel him dying... and I couldn't stop it." His fingers intertwined and his hands gripped themselves until his knuckles turned white.

Mithian's hand moved to the back of his head, stroking his black locks gently, all thoughts and alarms of impropriety forgotten or ignored. "A king always knows that when he goes into a battle, he might not see its end," she said. At first she didn't think he heard her, but the slightest tilt of his head told her otherwise. She quietly continued. "It is the job of the people to be prepared in case he doesn't."

Merlin shook his head and lowered it further toward his knees. "That wasn't my job," he muttered. "It was my job to protect him. My only purpose was to keep him safe." He suddenly sat up and stared at her, his eyes burning with anger and pain. There were tears gathering on his lower lids, but he seemed resolute in his desire not to let them fall. "And I let him die!" Something about his outburst didn't startle or frighten the princess, it only deepened the ache in her heart. She stared steadily back at him even as his arm twisted around hers and his hand gently gripped her bicep. As much as she fought them, her own grief at Arthur's loss, along with the pain of the man in front of her, tears forced their way into her eyes and wound a lump into her throat. "I was born to protect and serve him, and I let him die!" he cried, his voice raising in volume with every word.

In one move, Mithian wrenched her arm from his calloused grasp and threw them around his shoulders, pulling him close. One arm she wrapped across his back and the other cradled his head against her shoulder.

"You were born to live, Merlin," she whispered against his hair. She could feel his surprise in the tension of his muscles, but he did not fight her. After a moment, he melted against her and she allowed her torso to fall back against the mass of pillows at the head of the bed. "You were born to beyou." She took a breath. "And you have no idea how important that is right now." Again, her hand moved slowly up and down, stroking his black locks.

She felt the hand that lay across the small of her back tense slightly at her words and after a long moment, his other arm moved across her stomach and hugged her close.

"Now that he's..." He couldn't bring himself to complete the sentence. "He was everything..." he said again. "What am I supposed to do now?" His voice was small and breathy and she could feel his entire body shivering.

An honest question to which he desired an answer. How was she to answer? In the short time that she had known them, Merlin's loyalty to Arthur had been paramount. Arthur's care had consumed his everyday life. There was a massive abyss in his life that he would have to now fill with things of his own choosing, likely a situation that few servants ever found themselves in.

But there was something about Merlin and his place in Camelot that seemed so strong and so right that not even the king's death could undo it. Merlin had choices in his life to come... but something about his place in this great city didn't seem to be his own. Perhaps he was simply too ingrained within the walls and stones and hearts to ever leave or change. Perhaps it was his unfailing loyalty. Whatever it was, Mithian was entirely sure of one thing,

"Arthur has left you and Guinevere a kingdom, Merlin," she breathed. He began to shake with quiet sobs, his head turning until his tears began to soak into the satin of her gown. He was not simply grieving the loss of his king and friend, but the loss of his purpose in life. What he needed more than anything was a new one. The king was no longer his reason for being, and she wanted to provide him with a new purpose lest he decide that he didn't have one. "You knew what he wanted for this kingdom better than anyone... perhaps even more than the queen." She turned her head to the side and rested her cheek on the top of his head and held him tighter. "Help make sure that history remembers Arthur as the kind of king he truly was, Merlin."

There was no answer, and Mithian didn't need one. She silently prayed that Guinevere was using another set of chambers to sleep and that no one was looking for the princess, for several minutes of quiet sobbing later, she felt Merlin slowly relax against her and his breathing become steady. Glancing down, she could see his eyes-red and mildly swollen as they were- had gently closed in sleep, his muscled arms locked around her. At last she allowed a smile to curve her lips and pressed them against his head again.

She let her cheek rest against the top of his head once more and it wasn't long before she joined him in slumber.


End file.
